Character Sheet: Pandora Grifiths
A.J. Venter
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Nita <nital...@gmail.com>
Date: Mon, Mar 5, 2012 at 9:13 AM
Subject: Character Sheet
To: "A.J. Venter" <ajve...@gmail.com>
I hope I got this right...
____________________________________________________________________________
Full names; Pandora Griffiths
Age: 184
Character in original game ? [y/n] (This option is only available if
you played in the original GOTC game - if you choose to reuse a
character rather than writing a new one, you must add 49 years to
your character’s former age. Consider the aging rules above). no
Race: Vampire
Subrace: If Lycan - what animal does your character change into ? N/A
Ethnicitty : In human form, what is your character’s ethnicity ? Greek/English
A brief physical description of your character: Pandora is the product
of a Greek mother and an English father. She inherited her father's
pale skin and grey eyes, and her mother's dark brown hair and slightly
plump figure. She was 25 years of age when she was turned. Her
preferred outfit is a black trench, which she believes hides her
figural flaws, accompanied by a pair of worn leather biker boots.
Character backstory (tell us who your character is, and how he came to
be there tonight):
Jethro hadn't been to Vienna in a long time, but he needed a vacation.
So he'd escaped from New York's busy nightlife (vampires tend to not
be all that concerned with anything except the night life of a city)
to the quietness of his hometown in Vienna. Well, quiet compared to
New York. It was springtime and even after dark the cherryblossoms for
which the city was famous filled the air with their scent as he walked
around town.
Busy sounds caught his attention and he followed them to one of
Vienna's many art galleries, open late for an exhibition. He stepped
inside, bought a ticket for a small fee and started looking around the
works displayed. There was a definite theme to the works, blood
tended to appear somewhere in every painting. Red and delicious
looking - even to a vampire who has only drunk from bloodbank--bags
for decades.
A certain suspicion was already forming in his mind - this was the age
of vampires out of the coffin, this was the age of vampires out in the
open - it was only a matter of time before one became a painter and
celebrated vampirism. He wondered what the artist would be like, how
long turned ? A young woman appeared by his side as he mulled over a
particularly bloody painting - and his sensitive vampire nose told him
real blood had been used in the paints. His mind told him she was a
vampire as well, and just the slightest probe told him she was the
artist as well. Not all vampires could read minds, so he knew she
couldn't be sure he would know this. The old hero couldn't resist
teasing her a little even though he knew she would know what he was.
"Seems to me the painter is a bit bloodthirsty." he said, his face
carefully blank.
Pandora studied the stranger intently, but failed to gain any
knowledge from his expression. She knew he was a vampire, yet she
wasn't quite certain how to respond to his taunt.. So she shrugged
nonchalantly and replied warily "Aren't all of us?" She knew he could
smell the blood in her paint, in fact, she was standing there and
savouring the sweet scent of it herself. It amused her that humans
were so attracted to it, that they paid thousands for blood and
acrylic on canvas. She gained a little confidence, her smile wide, and
motioned to the crowd around them. "Even they are, after all, they buy
it, don't they?"
Jethro smiled at that, then leaned forward a bit - reading the name in
the bottom-right corner of the painting. "Pandora" he said out loud.
"Could that be a real name ? Who would name a child after a
mythological figure whose greatest achievement was apparently fucking
up the only job she ever had- and a truly simple job at that ? Or
perhaps it's a nom-de-plume, like a stage-name kind of thing. What do
you think little fang ?". Jethro smiled he knowing smile again. "Not
even 200 years old yet... and already you think you got humanity
figured out ? I've been here more than twice as long and they still
surprise me."
Pandora grew slightly annoyed at the stranger. She mumbled under her
breath:
"Perhaps that was just how my parents saw me. My most memorable
achievement
being fucking up their lives?" She had no idea why she would admit this
to a
total stranger. She'd been asked about her name before, and laughingly
contributed it to her Greek mother's love of mythology. This was the
first
time ever she voiced the fact her mind knew so well. But it was so long
ago
and they've been dead for 161 years. It hardly mattered now.
She kept her eyes fixed on the painting, though she knew every line by
heart, she knew about the smear in the lower left corner, the blotch of
paint where the curve of the P of her name joined the vertical line.
Things
that no-one else seemed to notice, but stood out to her. When she thought
she had her temper under control she turned to face him, head held high
and
her chin pushed forward defiantly. "I have not yet figured out my own
race,
let alone theirs." she challenged.
"Now we're talking" he said smiling down at her, "we all have
something in our past we're angry about, part of growing up is
learning
to acknowledge those ancient angers, overcome them and not let them
shape us. One advantage of being like us, is that we get a lot
of time to grow up in." he paused for a moment looking at the painting
again, "and now I see where the rage in you work comes from." again
that pause as he thought through what he was about to say... "which
raises the question - if you did resolve it, would you still paint so
well ? What do you think ?" as he waited for her answer a waiter came
past bearing a tray with champagne. Jethro deftly took two glasses
from him and with a tip of his hat, placed one in her hand.
She blinked slowly, thinking it through. He had it right, she wouldn't
have
been as good. Art was her escape from her parents' constant whining. She
remembered the hours spent in their basement, how absorbed she would be
in
the world that existed only in her mind, how she tried to copy it to
canvas.
She would escape to that dream world so often that her grades at school
suffered, and she'd failed a year. This failure only added to her
existing
list and made her parents wish rather loudly that she'd been as bright as
her older brother. But it paid off: all the time spent in her hide out
made
her skilled with a paint brush.
She decided not to mention all of this to him, and so she merely
concluded
that yes, she'd not have been as good, in fact, she'd probably have ended
up
serving burgers at some cheap restaurant. She accepted the glass he
offered,
not mentioning how odd his hat-tipping act would have appeared if the
humans
were more attentive. To them, it would have appeared as though his hat
tipped of its own volition, so rapid were his movements.
He smiled at her, and in an old-fashioned mannerism held out his arm
for her. After a moment's hesitation she hooked her arm over his.
Vampires after all, had no real reason to fear strangers. He led her
into a dark corner in a small sideroom. He wasn't entirely sure what
he was about to engage in. He wanted to talk to her, and get to know
her - away from prying ears, he had to admit she was rather attractive
too... perhaps he wanted to do more than talk.
As they walked away, a pair of eyes followed them.
A slim, dark man carefully watched the couple from a distance, a grim smile
playing around his mouth. Tonight would be his night. He would taste the
sweet revenge of taking from his sister something she loved, as she had done
with him. He was capable now, strong. He had the same curse as she. It took
him too long to track her down. Then came the reports of the artist painting
the bloodiest scenes, but oh so beautifully. He had his suspicions. He was
always lagging behind in following the artist through the cities where she
had exhibitions: Paris, London and now, finally, Vienna. This time it was
perfect and nothing stopped him. She found someone to love.
Nikolai studied the blonde man accompanying his sister and hatred devoured
him. He had no tears left for their parents, yet his longing for them had
not subsided. His love for them was still strong and alive. He remembered
the day he found Pandora sobbing in their basement. Their parents were in
the kitchen, brutally murdered. At first he believed his poor little sister
had escaped the murderer and he went to comfort her. But his arms around her
stiffened when he heard her confession. That she had killed them. Her
hastily added "I didn't mean to" in her best little girl voice enraged him.
It was pathetic and cruel.
He didn't believe her vampire story until he saw the fangs, noticed the
blood on her clothes. He knew vampires were evil, he had to slay her. Now
that he was one of them he knew his earlier perception of the race was
wrong. But it didn't make his sister less evil in his eyes. She hated them
for their attempts at constructive criticism. She believed, too, that they
hated her.
Nikolai blinked slowly, clearing his head. He had to focus on the task
ahead. His sister's lover had to die. She would have to watch him die. He'd
leave her to live a decade or so without the lover she smiled at so
charmingly, and then he'd hunt her down.
Jethro Sullivan had let his hair, and his guard, down. It didn't come
naturally to him. Two centuries as a guardian tended to make you a
little edgy. But now he was relaxing, after all, he was on vacation
and about to share an intimate glass of wine in a dark corner with a
rather lovely lady. Things could certainly be worse.
So Jethro Sullivan wasn't scanning minds around him for threatening
intentions. Wasn't using his vampiric senses to the full. Wasn't aware
that somebody was creeping up right behind him as he stepped in,
perchance to steal a kiss.
Pandora sensed Nikolai's presence before she saw him. She was
permanently jumpy, like a deer knowing the hunter was watching it,
taking aim. She didn't wait to see her palehaired companion's
reaction, her eyes were already scanning her surroundings for a
weapon. She was only too aware that her brother had tracked her down.
She fingers grasped her paintbrush's wooden handle, but to her
surprise Nikolai lurched at Jethro instead. She hurled herself at him,
just in time to prevent him plunging the silvertipped dagger into
Jethro's neck. They struggled on the floor, Nikolai's dagger
threateningly close. She thrust the handle of the paintbrush into her
brother's stomach, knowing it wouldnt kill him, but at least
incapacitate him long enough to buy them time to escape. Pandora
snatched the dagger from Nikolai and slid it into her pocket. Her eyes
briefly examined Jethro where he slumped in his chair, a razorthin
scratch over his cheek.
She pulled his arm over her shoulder, and dragged him through a back door...
Favorite weapon: Silver-tipped dagger.
Magic abilities: Glamour
--
"Semper in excretum set alta variant" - My father
A.J. Venter - http://www.silentcoder.co.za